Of Contrary Motion
The notes go 44 this way and 44 that.
You pick the upper half.
The low ones are much more attractive.
How can I boogie-woogie without the bass?
How do you manage staying sweet and serene?
It’s not melody I need, it’s the rumble of solid earth.
It’s not the airy fluff that keeps me filled, it’s the meat and potatoes of life.
As you go up, I go down.
To the right you go,
I am off to the left.
And yet on your rare descents
And my occasional rising up
And in those moments,
past the awkard near-collisions,
we again are as one
and forsake our vows of yin and yang.